


Tomorrow You'll Be Worlds Away - Act I

by barefootwits



Series: Tomorrow You'll Be Worlds Away [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, First Meetings, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-08 05:58:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barefootwits/pseuds/barefootwits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The City of Lights. Enjolras is lost. A stranger sits down at his table in a cafe without being invited and makes him forget that. And also maybe changes his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> This will, of course, have an Act II. 
> 
> There's a reason Grantaire is only "R" through this Act, so bear with that if it throws you off. 
> 
> I've never been to Paris at all, so I was as lost and Enjolras, but the cafe is the only fictional place in this. I apologize for any inaccuracies geographically. 
> 
> I slaved over this and re-edited a million times, I feel like. I'd love comments and con-crit!! I really hope it's enjoyed.

**From Courf:** _Where are you????? Aren't you on your way or something?_

**To Courf:** _The directions you gave me are useless._

**From Courf:** _Are you lost?_

**To Courf:** _Not precisely._

**From Courf:** _...meaning?_

**To Courf:** _…Yes._

**From Courf:** _hahahahahahahaaaah_

Enjolras scowls down at his phone, then lifts his head and directs that scowl around the unfamiliar area he's been wandering in for well over an hour. 

The closer he finds himself to La Tour Eiffel, the more lost he becomes. This isn’t a part of Paris he comes to very often. It’s too busy, and protests are rarely staged around here because there are too many risks, so many people, so he has no business spending much time in the City of Lights. He’s only ever found himself here for a couple of small rallies, and he’d been in the company of Combeferre, who has the ability go somewhere once and never forget how to get back. A skill that Enjolras himself does not possess. 

He should have made the drive up with Combeferre and Joly, but he’d been invited to speak at a presentation on his campus. So here he is now, a day later than everyone else, and thoroughly regretting it. The only redeeming thing about the situation is that he’d sent his luggage ahead with them, so now he isn’t forced to drag it around.

It's not much of a win, though. Nothing seems familiar. Not even mildly. He’s been walking in circles for hours and hasn’t even come across a single one of the streets listed on the directions Courfeyrac emailed him.

This isn’t how he’d planned to spend his day. He's hoping it won't go on like this for much longer, grumbling as much as he dials Courfeyrac.

_"Enjolras! Did you find your way?"_

"In the course of the two minutes since I last texted you?"

_"Is that your way of saying 'no?'"_

Enjolras shuts his eyes as he finds a place to stop near the end of the street he's on. "Is one of you able to meet me? I'd like to check into the hotel before nightfall."

There’s a lag as he waits for a reply, during which Enjolras looks around to find a potential rendezvous point. There are bustling crowds around him. He’s not far from the most tourist-filled spots. He can hear Courfeyrac asking if anyone can stop what they’re doing. There’s also Jehan in the background, he thinks, instructing Feuilly to ‘use the green paper.’ And he hears the distracted fond noise that Courfeyrac makes over his boyfriend, right into his ear.

“Courfeyrac,” Enjolras urges.

_“Geez, demanding,”_ Courfeyrac huffs, but his voice is full of his usual humor. _“Depends on where you are. Jehan’s recruited most of us for decorating, so our presence is required here.”_

Enjolras sighs, still searching for somewhere to head to. He settles on a slightly busy café that he can see further down, figuring that if it’s busy, it might be well-known and easy for one of his friends to find. That’s what he’s hoping for as he approaches, keeping his phone to his ear.

“What about Combeferre?”

Courfeyrac gives a malicious chuckle. _“He’s dealing with Marius.”_

“Why does Marius need dealing with?”

_“The fact that you even have to ask is appalling. Honestly, it’s the night before his engagement party. Just picture him.”_

Enjolras smirks as he files into the twisting line to the counter of the café. No doubt, Marius is probably rushing around stressing that nothing is going to be perfect enough for his Cosette, and she's probably not worried about it in the slightest. If that’s the way he is now, when the wedding itself comes around, Marius is going to be just ridiculous. “Yeah, Combeferre is certainly needed there, in that case. Is there nobody else who can come find me?”

_“Like I said, I need to know where you are first. Maybe if I promise Jehan my firstborn, he might let me off duty for a few hours."_

Enjolras snorts. "I thought that when you have a relationship Jean Prouvaire, it's understood you'll give him the world, let alone children." Courfeyrac's room-filling laughter echoes down the phone as the blond leans around the people in front of him and catches the name of the café on the side of someone’s cup as they walk back out past him. “I’m at a sidewalk café called Le Rouge et le Noir.” 

Courfeyrac lets out a half-laugh, half-groan. _“Ooooof course you are. That’s the complete opposite way from here! How long have you been walking for?”_

Enjolras lets someone cut ahead of him in line so he can hang back on his call, even though there are still plenty of people in front of him. “I got off my train at ten this morning.” He glances down at his watch to look at the display. It tells him that he’s missed lunch and confirms that he’s been lost for approximately three hours.

_“I think Bossuet and I can be spared here. But you’ll have to wait around for at least an hour for us to get there.”_

There’s nothing else he can do without chancing getting even more turned around, so Enjolras grudgingly agrees. “Sure,” he sighs slowly. “Apologize to Marius for me over my lateness.”

_“As if that won’t make him worse,”_ Courfeyrac snickers. Enjolras shares in the humor of it with a chuckle of his own. He can hear Courfeyrac say something not directed to him, a small bit of protesting from Jehan, then the noise of a kiss before, _“We are on our way. Don’t go anywhere!”_

The line goes dead, so Enjolras stuffs his phone in his pocket and waits for his turn to approach the counter. He orders the biggest size organic vanilla latte he can, pleased that they even serve organic products, then adds an avocado wrap and a slice of raspberry crumble to his order. There’s an open table for two set furthest back along the window-side of the building, which he nabs for himself, finding that he’s glad to be able to sit for a while. He’s even tempted to place his feet in the extra chair, but doesn’t want to appear so churlish or anger the staff, so instead his legs stretch out underneath the tabletop.

His lunch is placed in front of him in record speed, perfectly fresh. He makes a mental note to leave a tip in the jar on his way out before he starts eating. The wrap and crumble don’t last the next fifteen minutes, but he sips leisurely at his latte, watching customers come and go from his tucked-away spot. 

After some time has passed, a head of dark waves catches his attention from out the window. He sits up straighter, ready to wave Courfeyrac over to him. But he realizes just before he’s raised his hand that it’s not his friend. 

The man seems around the same age, though. And he’s strikingly attractive. He has a burlap backpack over one shoulder and is pulling a thick book from it as he takes a seat at a table outside, directly in Enjolras’ line of sight. Enjolras briefly watches him jam a deep red beanie over his inky curls and fold his feet up under him on his chair, before he forcefully breaks his gaze to continue keeping an eye out for Bossuet and Courfeyrac in the passing crowds. 

Only his gaze ends up back on the same guy ten minutes later, attention grabbed by the motion of the man dropping a pen and leaning down to pick it up from the ground. Enjolras catches how he glances around sheepishly as he straightens back up. And he doesn’t miss how, when their eyes lock for a second, the man flushes, swallows, but doesn’t look away. 

Enjolras is the one to break the contact, blinking and getting up to look at the row of magazines and newspapers set out on a counter for customers, letting himself linger there until the alarming tingling under his lungs has stopped, before bringing one back to his table. He busies himself getting absorbed in the new issue of La Barricade, even though he already has a copy of it waiting for him in his suitcase. 

Two articles over issues raging in Egypt have been thoroughly read through before he lifts his head to check the time on his watch. And as he raises his wrist up, beyond it he sees the guy outside. Who is still staring at him.

He’s about to get up and move to a different table, beginning to feel unsettled by the squeeze in his ribcage. But he’s distracted by a text lighting up his phone. He sees the man turn his head down to his book and scribble something very quickly before Enjolras’ focus is drawn to opening his messages.

**From Courf:** _Guess what happens when you get in a car to go somewhere with Bossuet._

Apparently he doesn’t actually need to guess, since he isn’t even given time to type half a reply.

**From Courf:** _You get stuck behind a group of drunk tourists who won’t get out of the road and get aggressive when you honk at them. Hooray for pressing charges and Cosette’s father’s history with Inspector Javert!!!!!!_

Enjolras is stiff with concern as he furiously begins texting Courfeyrac back, demanding to know what happened. He’s ensured that nothing and no one but the side-view mirror of Combeferre’s car was harmed. Courfeyrac is obviously trying to make light of the situation, but he doesn’t dodge the fact that now Enjolras is even more stuck. 

**From Courf:** _We’re still coming to get you, but who knows how long this will take._

Even though it’s not what he’d wanted or anticipated for his day, Enjolras dismisses the fact that it might well be hours until his friends arrive. It is something he can more than readily forgive, due to the circumstances. Not to mention the fact that it’s his own fault for being stubborn, staying behind a day, and getting so turned about once he’d gotten here. He just tells Courfeyrac to call him whenever they are nearby. All he can do after that is hope that it won’t take too long.

The barista looks pleased when he returns to the counter for a re-fill of his latte. She even gives him a small discount, which causes Enjolras to pull out the difference plus a little extra from his wallet and drop it into her hand, insisting she keep it for herself. 

He sips it as he makes his way back, and sets down his recycled cup at his table before dropping back into his chair. 

And he ends up looking straight into a pair of striking blue eyes. They’re slowly becoming familiar, even though they dart away this time. 

Finally annoyed, Enjolras knocks on the glass of the window, and the man outside brings his eyes up again, frozen otherwise. His expression looks a little like he’s been caught committing a crime, guarded and alert. 

Enjolras leans back into his chair, throwing his arms out some, and mouths, “Do you mind?” 

The grin that instantly stretches over the man’s face is wild, full of mischief. He leans back in imitation of Enjolras’ posture, which strikes a nerve in Enjolras, who clenches his jaw. There’s a cheekiness behind the shine in his eyes. And, at the top of his voice, the man calls through the glass, “NO, I DON’T MIND! NOT AT ALL! I COULD LOOK AT YOU ALL DAY!”

Not only do the people inside the café all pause in their activities, conversations, and jobs, but so do the people out in the street passing by. Every single person looks over at the guy, at the way he’s beaming. Many of them follow his gaze to Enjolras. 

Enjolras draws in a long, steady breath, flips a page of his magazine, and resolutely turns his glare down onto it. The rest of the café gradually begins to return to their own devices as well, forgetting the disruption.

Until another shout comes through the glass, this one louder than the first. “MIND IF I JOIN YOU?”

This time silence doesn’t fall over everyone, but instead, a few sounds of various emotions are expressed. The suited man laboring over an inch-thick stack of papers sitting not far from the door makes an irritated grumble that Enjolras feels like mimicking. But instead, the blond just continues staring down at the headline on the page he’s open to, acting as though there’s nothing to respond to. Two girls at the counter, and the barista as well, all make delighted, giggling noises that they must think are encouraging. Enjolras sighs, taking a large gulp of his latte. 

The chair on the other side of his table suddenly scrapes against the floor. His head raises quickly, mouth starting to open, but he’s unable to say anything before the man is talking.

“Hello. I wasn’t sure if you could hear me or not,” he says, situating himself, placing his burlap bag by his feet once he’s seated. 

Enjolras frowns severely. 

But his heart is having trouble deciding if it’s stopped or if it’s racing.


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His name is R. 
> 
> Enjolras reads the large letter on the side of the cup that gets placed next to his. He tries to glare at it, and not look like he’s intrigued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to ease possible nerves, I've completely finished Act I, so it will all be posted and doesn't need to be read with Act II. I'm still in the process of writing Act II, but it's going along very well. I just don't want to jump my gun posting the chapters for Act I and then have a lot of eager readers waiting for me to finish Act II. 
> 
> So, apologies for the somewhat slow updates!!
> 
> Thank you everyone who's been reading this!!

His name is R. 

Enjolras reads the large letter on the side of the cup that gets placed next to his. He tries to glare at it, and not look like he’s intrigued. 

“I did hear you,” he hears himself saying, voice low.

The man – R – raises his eyebrows and smirks slowly. The expression is sly, and beautiful. “Well,” he drawls, “ _do_ you mind?”

The way that he asks now, coupled with how he has his legs pulled up under him and is leaning back fully into his chair, looking almost like he owns the space, Enjolras doesn’t think R would move anyway, regardless of the answer he’d give. Somehow, it’s both irritating and charming.

“I shouldn’t be here for much longer,” Enjolras states, his voice level and certain, even though he really doesn’t know for sure how long he’ll have to wait there for Courfeyrac and Bossuet. “So it doesn’t matter.” He pauses, then adds pointedly, “Even though you had a perfectly acceptable seat where you were.” 

R is silent. Just keeps smirking as he leans down to shove his book into his backpack, zipping it up to the top. When he straightens up, his eyes land on the open issue of the magazine Enjolras had been caught up in, and that smirk briefly forms into a sort of curious sneer. “Reading for a class?”

Enjolras almost pulls the magazine toward himself protectively in response to the withering look it’s on the receiving end of. “For enjoyment,” he says. 

“’A Timeline of Student Uprisings?’” R reads aloud the title of the article in front of them. “That’s enjoyable?”

“When being read undisturbed at one’s own table,” Enjolras snips, “Yes.” 

A bubble of laughter breaks from R’s mouth. The sound shocks Enjolras, because it’s a smooth, cheerful laugh, in no way harsh or sarcastic like he would have expected. It’s a good sound. 

Enjolras can’t frown at it like he wants. Instead, he schools his mouth into a thin line even though his eyes laugh a little with R.

“Don’t the stories depress you?” He’s being asked, and it causes him to straighten up. “Men throwing their lives away? Men our age, I would guess?” 

Enjolras finds himself shaking his head resolutely, leaning forward. “No,” he begins, voice earnest, “It humbles me. Their lives were dedicated to a purpose. It gives me courage to do the same for the things I believe in,” he says. “Dying idle would be entirely wasteful.” 

And now R is staring at him once again. As though he’s seen something life-changing, wonderful, and terrifying. 

Then, “Wouldn’t striving your whole life for something only to die and not see it fulfilled be the bigger waste?”

“If the thing you were striving for was only for yourself.” 

He thinks this will end the conversation, a conversation which probably shouldn’t have ever even been started, that he shouldn’t have been pulled into, but it only makes R half-roll his eyes, and fold his hands up behind his head. 

“Nobody ever truly dies for other people anyway.”

“Of course they do!” Enjolras insists, subconsciously leaning forward even more, until he almost tips his cup over. He taps the portraits in the magazine of revolutionaries from the past as he continues speaking. “These men died in effort to change the way their countries treated their people. They offered their lives to benefit the lives of others in the future.” 

“But they die believing that it will be them who will have the honor of changing things and being remembered for it. That is not entirely selfless.”

“Then it is still selfishness for the sake of other people. There is no point in dying for a cause you do not believe in, or without having a person that you love enough to die for.”

R blinks slowly and falls quiet, picking up his cup to take a long drink from. His startling eyes seem to take in all of Enjolras, and they look at Enjolras like he’s never been looked at before. He isn’t sure what to call it. 

It makes him feel completely uncertain.

Which is a new feeling.

When R puts down his cup, emptied, he draws the magazine toward him while Enjolras watches, opens it to a new page at random, glances over the story, and starts talking about it. He argues against the ideas of it, while Enjolras frowns at first. But he leaves room for Enjolras to jump in, drawing him into a discussion with a quirk of his mouth and an eyebrow risen in an arch. Drawing him in so much that by the time they’ve thoroughly gone through the whole article point-by-point, Enjolras is practically about to stand up from his chair, so impassioned. R just flips to the next page, starts on a new topic, gets and keeps Enjolras sharing his beliefs with so much ardor that Enjolras grows frustrated when R only challenges him on nearly everything.

Yet it enthralls Enjolras at the same time.

It goes on for hours. 

_“No, you don’t see-“_

_“I do, you just refuse to see my point.”_

_“I just told you why your point is invalid!”_

_“You did no such thing. But by all means, try again.”_

_“If you’ll_ listen _this time. You have to think about what’s already been attempted…“_

People and coffee move around them. Neither is aware.

They shake their heads at each other, nod together on the rare instances when R doesn’t counter Enjolras, throw out arms, break into laughs, and eventually have the magazine pushed off to the side again. Because at some point, somehow, they end up talking about themselves. 

Enjolras introduces himself properly, talks animatedly about the internship he really wants to get with La Barricade, a fact that makes the man across from him raise his eyebrows up beneath his beanie. R, not saying what it stands for, remains R. He also shows that he’s a pessimistic artist, sketching on a napkin while he listens to, then verbally tears at the majority of the points Enjolras has been trying to make. It is in itself a combination that ensnares Enjolras’ interest, even though cynicism is normally the last thing he would ever appreciate in anyone. 

R is the single-most infuriating person Enjolras has ever spoken to. For Enjolras, who has stood before rooms full of government officials with his voice strong and raised, this is no small feat. 

But nothing has ever compelled Enjolras as much as convincing R, either.

And nothing else really exists. Not until the barista approaches them and kindly tells them she’s already let them stay half an hour past five o’clock closing, could they please leave. Neither of them had even realized that they were the last people filling the space. 

Enjolras hadn’t noticed how much time had passed. 

“Shit. I probably missed my friends coming to find me,” he sighs, once he and R are standing outside the door, lingering, each with a last refill clutched in their hands. He checks his phone, but there aren’t any messages he hasn’t already read or listened to. Unlike he usually would be, he’s not very concerned about it, just starts a message to Courfeyrac.

R tilts his head. “Coming to find you?”

Enjolras pauses, frowning down at the steam rising from his latte, then nods. “I don’t live in this part of the city. I’ve been lost since I got here this morning.” 

He expects R to laugh, and glares when he does. But then R says, “Me too!” And Enjolras can’t do anything but smile over the coincidence. And R’s grin matches. 

They stand there under the door awning, looking at each other, expressions falling into quiet hesitance. R pulls his backpack high onto his shoulders, and chews his lip for a second, then motions at the street. “Do you want to walk?” His voice is mellow, smooth like the first laugh Enjolras heard from him. But also hopeful. 

Enjolras takes a big breath and has to resist letting it out as a sigh. “I should wait here for my friends. This is where I told them I would be.” 

“But it’s closed,” R says, like that’s an argument bound to change things.

“I can sit at one of the tables out here.”

R clearly wants to keep trying. And, when he doesn’t, when he nods silently after a moment, shoving his free hand into his tan jeans pocket, Enjolras wishes he would. But he doesn’t say anything either, and just holds out his hand when R has been standing there for a bit. 

“Thanks for inviting yourself over.”

They both chuckle, and R reaches out, puts his hand in Enjolras’, and shakes it. Both of them stare at their hands during and after, until R takes his back, steps to the side. He lifts his gaze to share a last grin, and walks off down the street. 

He’s gone just like that.

Enjolras holds his last mouthfuls of latte to his chest, frowning, before he distracts himself checking his phone again. Still no messages, so he finishes the one he was typing before.

**To Courf:** _What’s taking the two of you so long?_

There’s no fast reply. His frown deepens as he stuffs the phone away and sits down, only realizing that it’s at the table R had first been at after he’s made himself comfortable.  
In the past several hours, something happened to him. That’s all he can say for certain. Everything is still vivid in his memory, but he can’t pin down what it is that’s done it, impacted him forever. He’s truly at a loss.

The barista comes out shortly and locks the door behind her. She smiles at Enjolras when she notices him, but glances around, too, curiously. Enjolras raises his eyebrows when she can’t seem to find what she’s looking for and the smile she then gives him is somewhat sympathetic. 

He refuses to assume he knows what it’s for.

Or to acknowledge that the look makes his chest feel tight.

When she’s gone, he’s left there on the street that’s now fairly cleared out. Some tourists still bustle past, but don’t stop once they realize most of the shops are closed for the day. There’s one dim shop across from the café that sells copies of historic photographs, which he goes to look in the window display of, buy can’t find any real interest in. His mind is still caught up in the arguing and discussing, which could have continued on forever without a word of complaint from him. After taking a long, unfocused look at each photo, he turns to go back to his table and has to halt abruptly to avoid bumping into a young couple looking in at the display from behind where he’s been standing. 

“Excuse me,” he tells them, side-stepping. 

They don’t even respond to him. They step closer to the display in tandem, and lean into one another as they study the photos. Their hands press together at their sides. And Enjolras watches them intensely, even once he’s seated.

This behavior is present in his life in the form of Marius and Cosette. Sometimes in Joly and Bossuet. Constantly in Courfeyrac and Jehan. It has never captured his attention like this.

It has never been what he desired, before.

The couple drift on down the street. Enjolras forces his gaze to shift, even if it merely goes sideways back to the window display, where he can picture the way they were standing there looking in at events that changed the world. That, in some small way, probably brought them together. 

When the two near the corner, one of them gasps and Enjolras looks back at the noise to see them separate suddenly as someone runs between them. 

The someone is R, who runs right up to where Enjolras is sitting, and drops into the chair opposite, the way he’d done hours before.

“You said you’re lost,” he starts, and Enjolras just stares at him with arched eyebrows. “I rented a bike earlier and left it chained on le Champ de Mars. Obviously, that’s a popular, easy-to-find area…”

Enjolras only barely contains his smirk. “So?”

“So have your friends find you there. I want to keep talking to you.”

R stands up again at that, giving Enjolras a pointed look, and Enjolras doesn’t even think twice about it before he rises, abandoning the last of his drink while falling into step with R. 

R grins as Enjolras rapidly texts Courfeyrac the change of plan, then he has Enjolras’ attention back. 

Enjolras is carefully _not_ grinning.

“We don’t have a political magazine for you to metaphorically rip to shreds,” he says, edged with what mirth he can’t contain.

The glimpse he gets of R displays a positively insidious expression. The tone of voice that accompanies is sinfully enticing, either on purpose, or completely naturally. “There are things besides politics that I can do that to.”

R is biting his lip, hands shoved deep into his pockets when Enjolras both raises an eyebrow and only barely flushes. His eyes pull Enjolras along as they keep walking. 

“You’re very passionate,” R states after a few strides. 

Enjolras hums in response. “I’ve heard that a few times before,” he admits. 

R nods as though he’d thought so. “Passionate people are stubborn,” he goes on, and the tease is evident in his voice and in the smile of his eyes. “You weren’t going to give up in convincing me to agree with you.”

“I still haven’t,” Enjolras responds quickly. Then he pauses, lets them walk a bit with their shoulders only hardly out of reach from brushing, and when they turn a corner, continues with, “But you think so negatively. Your opinions are harsh, and you focus on fault… How did you get that way?”

R’s smile has vanished. His face becomes closed-off and shadowy as he tugs at his beanie. “That is the way I see things.” 

“But why do you see things that way?” Enjolras pushes, because he can’t understand and he wants R to help him to. And because, maybe, he wants to help R change that. 

When R just shrugs, not really giving in to revealing anything, Enjolras frowns ahead of them, watching the Eiffel come more into view past some buildings. Enjolras lives to make others believe in the change and impact they can bring. It’s the same with R, but it’s also more. 

He can already see passion like his own within R. He desperately wants to know how R uses it, while still managing to believe in nothing, thinking the world cannot be fixed. R cannot just waste that. The thought alone makes Enjolras disdainful, until he glances again to the man walking beside him. 

There’s something there, between them.

Whatever it is trembles through him when R suddenly turns and meets his eyes. “What you said way before, about there being no point in giving your life without the loss being from love or something you believe in…” For a moment, before continuing, R looks hesitant. “What if what you believe in is another person… the someone you love?” 

“That makes no sense.”

R only laughs. Enjolras doesn’t know if it’s real or not.

“Haven’t you been in love before?”

Enjolras intends to shake his head, but ends up barely shrugging instead. He feels like this morning, it would have been a definite ‘no.’ That’s what makes him realize what’s hanging there around them. 

Not love, of course, but perhaps possibility. 

He’s suddenly hyper-aware of R, of how close they’re walking to one another, and of the solid black flip of R’s hair around his face and under his beanie. He’s alert to the look in R’s eyes, and of how the other man is clearly not ignorant of all of this. It doesn’t look like R’s scared of it or even questioning it. But he’s also not bringing it to attention, so neither does Enjolras.

Instead, R says, “Then of course it doesn’t make sense to you.”

It’s the first of R’s ideas that Enjolras desperately wants to make sense of.


	3. Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Making a promise and parting ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really sorry this took longer than I meant to update. I just graduated from my training program, so I'll have more free time and Act II should be updated regularly. Thank you to everyone who's read this act, and an even bigger thanks to those who have left comments!! 
> 
> Hope to see you all in Act II!!

By the time Courfeyrac texts Enjolras back, they’ve found R’s bike and dusk has long since spread over Paris, followed by the stars, which are beginning to shine like all the lights of the city. The two of them are walking toward palais du Louvre, caught up in a fast and nearly aggressive agreement over the last American presidential election. 

R’s just saying, “When the rest of the world is telling you not to elect someone, that should say everything,” when Enjolras’ phone goes off from his pocket and he pulls it out with a frown.

He quickly checks the message, blinking at the bright screen.

**From Courf:** _Enjolras, did no one ever establish to you that when you get lost, you STAY PUT? Meet us at Pont des Arts in half an hour. Just ask someone the way. You should be the only person from France who doesn’t know how to get there._

He frowns at the message and holds it out to R. “Do you know where this is?”

R doesn’t look at the message right away, instead smirking at Enjolras. When he does read it over, he laughs loudly, eyes flying back up to ones glaring at him. “Yes, it’s a bridge. It’s not far from here. I was there this morning.” 

Enjolras glances around as if trying to guess which way. When he looks back to R, he sees that the other man’s expression has fallen into a new one of disappointment. Enjolras chases it away by saying, “Will you help me find it? I really don’t want to end up wandering around all night.” 

There’s a moment when Enjolras thinks R will decline, seeing how the other man takes a long breath, and he prepares himself to face an excuse. But he realizes that R was deliberating something else entirely when a hand is held out to him. 

Enjolras decides to be bold, like he is with everything else, and takes it. 

When R turns them along the Seine within a hundred steps and a bridge comes into view, Enjolras tightens his grip.

“If you came to the city more often, you’d know where you are,” R states passively, almost making it a suggestion.

There’s a kind of regretful note in Enjolras’ voice when he responds. “I only come here for important rallies, usually. I’m normally far too busy, and far enough away that it’s tedious just to visit.” 

The bridge is lit up, and it makes the barely-there look of despondency that touches R’s face perfectly clear. R doesn’t bother to pretend Enjolras hasn’t seen, murmuring, “I’m not here often, either. This trip is a special occasion.”

Enjolras is forced to think about the engagement party, that he’s probably the cause of a lot of stress on Marius’ part right now, as one of his ushers. He softly says, “Same here.” He wonders briefly what the whole group are doing to prepare, but doesn’t actually want to be there with them. He’s here with R. 

Courfeyrac and Bossuet aren’t in sight when they step onto the bridge, going on out into the middle. The lamps along it reflect prettily on the chain fencing, but gleam off of the hundreds of padlocks fastened to the links. Only a few other people wander by. Enjolras and R overlook the benches in the middle of the bridge and lean right on the railing, facing the Eifel where it barely stands out over the buildings along the river. 

R leans his bike by a lamp and leaves it there, then starts to dig in his bag. 

There’s something that Enjolras wants to do, while he can, and he has no time to wait to do it. 

“Shut your eyes.”

Stopping his rummaging, R quickly looks up at him, hands sliding out of his bag, holding something. He gives Enjolras a wary look, eyes wide and words hushed when he asks, “What for?”

“Just shut your eyes.”

“What are you going to do?”

There’s a pause, where they stare at each other, and Enjolras once again doesn’t know what his heart is doing. It feels like it jolts when he says, “I’m going to kiss you.”

R weakly breathes out, “Oh,” and barely has time to lower his eyelids before Enjolras’ mouth covers his. He makes a sound against Enjolras’ lips and makes it again when Enjolras shoves both hands into inky waves, pushing the beanie half-off, deepening what’s already intimate. 

Enjolras can feel R grinning, which, after discovering all of R’s mouth, finally makes him pull back so their lips are only just brushing, and R says, barely above a whisper, “That’s what I thought you were going to do.”

Enjolras snorts. “It wasn’t exactly hard to see coming.” 

“Are you going to do it again?”

Enjolras does.

Something clunks down onto the bridge between them when R puts his fingers through Enjolras’ belt loops and tugs him forward. Enjolras is momentarily distracted by the brush of R’s knuckles against the bare skin at the top of his hips, and more distracted by R’s tongue licking the roof of his mouth, and of the drag of their upper lips against each other. But, after they’ve both become certain their lips are bruised and breathing through noses is not enough, they break apart enough for Enjolras to look down and see the lock for R’s bike near R’s shoes.

He leans his head forward against R’s shoulder and laughs softly while R has tensed and looks thoroughly flustered and a bit agitated.

“Yes, ok, it was obvious we were going to kiss and we’re on this bridge, so shut up,” R grumbles, which only makes Enjolras keep laughing, especially since R’s voice hits a note of amusement that he’s clearly trying to suppress. “This could have been the only really romantic moment of my life.” 

It takes a few more seconds, but Enjolras peels himself back with a quiet, “Sorry,” and gets a frown directed at him for the smirk on his face. He bends down and picks up the lock, turning it over once, but not giving it back. When he meets R’s eyes again, R looks a little disbelieving. The expression is wiped away, though, when Enjolras tells him, “I don’t think the moment’s over.”

He expects R to tease him. R doesn’t. His eyes get the same look in them that they’d had so much earlier in the café, with R looking at him as though he’s seeing something incredible for the first time.

It’s a look that doesn’t fade. 

R produces a permanent marker from nowhere, holding it between them. When he nods to Enjolras, the blond takes it from him, but only stares at the lock. It feels heavier than it should. 

“I don’t know what to write,” he admits. “Shouldn’t we just exchange phone numbers or-“ 

“What would be the point?” 

The way that R asks is so sad that Enjolras can’t respond. R sighs, leans in to kiss him soundly, and doesn’t back away again. “I can remember this until I die. One night is easier than a bunch of texts leading to you figuring out I’m not worth it.” 

“R, you-“

“No, hold on,” R cuts in, and takes both the lock and the marker from Enjolras. He tips his head down as he uncaps the marker, which forces his forehead against Enjolras’. Enjolras just watches R for a moment or two before his gaze also lowers, and he watches the other man write on the lock. 

**_If we ever meet again,_ **

R flips it over.

**_Then I wouldn’t mind. -R_ **

He purposefully holds it there long enough to know Enjolras has read it before both of them look back up at each other. R has on a small ironic grin over his choice of words, but it falls when Enjolras doesn’t share in it.

Instead, Enjolras just reaches out and pulls R in. There’s an argument burning inside him. He wants to point out how wrong R is, how infuriating it is that they’ve built up to this and this is all either of them can have without exchanging information. He wants to tell R that something like this has never happened to him, is completely unlike him, makes him not want to go back to his life before meeting each other. But R’s mouth seals his off. 

The press of R’s mouth is firm, but he doesn’t take control of the kiss. He simply meets every adjustment Enjolras makes with a reaction of his own, often involving sliding his tongue from corner to corner of Enjolras’ lips. They move close into each other, both gripping onto the front of the other, fingers curled into clothes until Enjolras moves one hand back into R’s hair. 

If it were possible, neither would ever pull back.

But R does, when a voice drifts across the bridge, calling for Enjolras. He draws away, but only gets a few inches apart before making a pained noise and giving Enjolras another, shorter kiss, which Enjolras tries to keep him in. R only just manages to break it, taking a full step back when he does, because the calling is getting louder.

“Don’t forget,” R tells him, giving a wave of the lock. 

In a quick movement, R clips it onto a link of the fence and clicks it shut, locking the promise there. Without so much as another kiss, just the briefest look of heartbreak, the man who found Enjolras in the café takes up his bike and pushes off on it, off down the bridge and away into the city, leaving Enjolras feeling more lost than he ever really was. 

++++++++++

They can’t get out of Enjolras what happened to him, not until it’s past three in the morning and only he, Combeferre, Joly, Jehan, and Marius are still awake. Marius, though, is only up still because he won’t stop stressing out until everything is done. He’s completely focused on hanging up the last of the decorations Jehan has laid out and is oblivious to Enjolras’ complete quietness.

Enjolras, in contrast, is so unfocused that he staples his finger. His grunted noise of pain brings Joly over, and Combeferre waits until the small wound is taken care of before drawing Enjolras away and taking him off into the quiet stairwell off the ballroom. 

He doesn’t say anything, just sits and looks up at Enjolras for a while. Enjolras looks right back at him and raises his eyebrows.

“Combeferre, don’t make a big deal out of me. It’s really nothing, as I said when I got here.”

“I believed that for five minutes, until you didn’t raise argument to Bahorel and Feuilly making a run to _Starbucks._ ”

Enjolras blinks, eyes hardening a bit. Then he catches the pointed look on Combeferre’s face and sighs. He lifts his hands in a wide, frustrated gesture, then lets them drop back to his sides. “While I was waiting in that café, I met someone. I spent the day with him,” he says, and he means for that to be all, to leave it at that, but then he just keeps talking. “He was fascinating, and intelligent. And a bit wild… I noticed him before he even sat down.”

Combeferre’s gaze grows wide as he listens, but he doesn’t cut in. 

“We talked for hours, then we walked together. I didn’t even want Courf and Bossuet to come find me,” Enjolras says, then he pushes a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “I feel so stupid. I don’t even know his real name, he just called himself R, and he left without giving me any way to contact him. I’m being irrational. I just need to forget him. I’m never going to see him again and it was one day…”

“This is what’s been going on in your head since you got here, isn’t it?” 

Enjolras draws in a long breath, neither confirming nor denying it.

Combeferre watches Enjolras step over and sit beside him, leaning back on his hands. He can see the tumult of thought still happening behind Enjolras’ eyes, so he reaches out and lays a hand on his shoulder. “We can try to find him,” he suggests.

Enjolras stiffens and looks at him, looks like he hadn’t considered it. But then his expression falls into a frown and he shakes his head some more. “No, it’s alright. It was unlike me, and I can’t chase after some fairytale. It was nothing but a day without consequence.” 

They’re quiet for a while, then Enjolras leans his shoulder into Combeferre’s comforting hand and says, “Please don’t bring it up with the others. It needs to be forgotten.”  
As he says it, he can hear R’s voice in his head, the last thing he said. 

_Don’t forget._

But he feels like he’s got no choice. 

Combeferre just nods, though he looks unhappy about it. He lets Enjolras get up and follows him back into the ballroom, and he watches Enjolras go to wake Jehan, who’d fallen asleep on the floor amid scraps of paper. They work for a while longer, but Enjolras ends up saying goodnight first. He leaves for his room without meeting anyone’s eyes.

Enjolras shows up the next day totally fine. He stands up before everyone and gives a short, eloquent speech congratulating Marius and Cosette and commenting on their love. 

There’s a new understanding beneath his words that wouldn’t have been there before. 

There’s a new passion, and he can’t bring himself to lose it.


End file.
